


i've seen the future (and it looks an awful lot like you)

by em_a



Series: it's only time (why would i stop loving you?) [1]
Category: Agent Carter (Marvel Short Film), Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Getting Back Together, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reunions, Steve and Peggy Deserve to Be Happy TOGETHER and It Can Fit With Both of Their Character Arcs, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_a/pseuds/em_a
Summary: In the 1940s, Peggy finds a way to move on.In 2023, Steve makes his way back.They meet somewhere in the middle. (And they finally get that dance.)





	1. we'll meet again (some sunny day)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a one-shot about Steve and Peggy reuniting and it sprawled into this, somehow.  
Hope you enjoy :)

**February, 1945**

“_We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day._”

“God, I hate this song,” Peggy mutters quietly under her breath. Not quiet enough, apparently, because the gentleman in the grey suit sitting next to her glances at her, then leans over to the woman on his left and whispers something. Under normal circumstances, she might have shot him an apologetic smile, maybe even offer an explanation. But right now, she honestly can’t bring herself to care what the stranger is thinking. She’s sitting at the bar in the Stork Club. 8 o’clock. Saturday. She is waiting for someone who she knows will never come. It’s idiotic that she’s here, really. But she can’t stop thinking about their last conversation, can’t stop thinking of the moments before Steve crashed the plane into the icy waters of the Atlantic. She can’t stop thinking of him, the absence of him. Every day this week, when she walked into work, there was a little part of her that expected to see him standing there by her desk. He’d greet her the same way every morning. He would smile and say ‘_hey, Peg_,’and then he’d reach out as if he was going to grab her and hug her, or maybe even take her and whisk her away. They had never gotten that far, though. Peggy would always sidestep him and say ‘Steve, _we have work to do_,’ which meant both ‘_you haven’t even asked me on a proper date yet_,’ but also ‘_not while we’re at_ work.’ And then all of a sudden she’s thinking of being with him again, and going out with him, and then she’s right back to their final conversation:

_“Peggy? I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance.”_

_“All right. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”_

_“You got it.”_

_“8 o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late—”_

“Hey, doll, can I get ya anything?” A voice says, one that isn’t part of the memory. Peggy looks up to see the bartender standing before her, a cup in his hand that’s waiting to be filled. The interruption is both wanted and unwelcome.

“What? Oh, sorry, no. Not yet. I— I’m waiting on someone.” She keeps her eyes down at the bar top, not wanting to meet his eyes. She doesn’t know why, but she feels as if she can’t. As if looking at him will mean he’ll suddenly know exactly why she’s here, how stupid it was for her to come.

“Look hun,” he says. “I’m sorry, but if you aren’t going to order anything, I’m going to have to ask you to get up and let someone else—a _paying_ customer—have your seat.”

“No, look, I just— I told him I would be here, and I said not to be late, but I know he’s not coming, he _can’t_ be here, but I just thought, you know, maybe if _I_ still came then— then, I don’t know what, but—,” Peggy’s voice cracks, and then all of a sudden she’s crying, and _oh God_ she can feel the bartender looking at her, she can hear the man whispering to his date again, and it’s all just _too much_. 

“Really, ma’am, I’m sorry,” the bartender says. “But I really can’t have you sitting here like this. You’re starting to disturb the other guests. If you can’t hold it together, you gotta leave.”

Peggy manages to gather herself long enough to utter an apology, walk out, and hail a cab. As she gets in and gives the cabbie her address, he glances at her in the rear view mirror. She must look a mess, because he shoots her a sympathetic smile.

“Hard night?” He asks.

“Something like that.” She looks out the car window as they begin to drive, watching the streetlights as they pass. Throughout the trip, the driver attempts to talk with her, but Peggy doesn’t contribute much to the conversation besides the occasional interject of ‘yes’ or a simple hum of agreement. She’s not actually listening to what he’s saying, but she can’t be bothered to care. She’s lost in her thoughts, which keep going back to Steve. Steve in the plane, Steve in the water, Steve the first time she met him, it’s all Steve. It’s _always_ him.

Peggy knows she shouldn’t be so caught up on this, she knows she has to start to get over him. Nothing is going to bring him back. She’s never going to see him again.

Despite knowing this, she can’t shake the feeling that his death isn’t right. Something about it feels off.

She reckons she’s just in denial. But she doesn’t currently have the energy nor resolve to try and talk some sense into herself, so instead, she decides to make herself a nice hot cup of tea.

She collapses on the couch and cries as the water boils.

* * *

**August, 2023**

The whole thing feels _off_ to Steve. He should have known something would go wrong, really. It would have been too good to be true. Going back in time, finding these stones. Of course it couldn’t all work out perfectly. It never did. There was always something that would fail, a hitch in the plan. 

Except this time, it was one of them. Natasha was gone forever, left in the depths of Vormir. Steve glances to where Clint is walking ahead of him, eyes downcast. He can only imagine what it was like for him, having to watch Nat sacrifice herself for a damn glowing rock. (In the back of his mind, he knows it was more than that, that without her sacrifice, they wouldn’t have a shot at saving everyone. But until it works, he can’t help but feel the world lost Natasha just for a little stone that can be held in the palm of his hand.)

He falls back in step so that he’s walking alongside Banner.

“It’s hard to believe she’s really gone,” he says, still staring ahead. It takes Bruce a moment to realize Steve was talking to him and not just thinking out loud.

“I know,” he mumbles. “I’m going to miss her, too.”

“And we’re sure there’s no way to get her back? I mean, what if we—”

“No, Steve. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can. Clint said it was an eternal exchange, a soul for a soul. We can try— God, do I want to. But if it was possible, don’t you think Thanos would have gotten Gamora back?”

Steve remains silent, which is enough of an answer for Bruce. Deep down, Steve knows she’s really gone. That fact doesn’t make him feel any better.

A beat passes, then another. At this point, they’re nearly back to the main building. Steve knows that as soon as they enter, everyone will be expected to focus on preparing the new gauntlet that Tony had made. He recalls the conversation he and Natasha had had there, days prior, when she had told him to get a life. It brings up another thought, one he couldn’t shake since they had started entertaining the idea of time travel. 

“Bruce, I… What would have happened if one of us had gotten stuck?”

“Stuck where?” He asks.

“You know, in the past. If one of us had stayed— gotten stuck, what would’ve happened?”

Bruce shoots him a questioning look. “Being stuck and staying back are two different things. Regardless, I’m not sure I can say. Quantum mechanics is still so underdeveloped, and don’t even get me start—”

“I _won’t_ even get you started. I’m a man of the past, remember? All of this advanced physics jargon goes over my head. I just… I need to know— I was wondering if it would create some sort of irreparable rip in the fabric of the space-time continuum, is all.” At this, Bruce shoots him another look. “Just wondering,” Steve says in response, averting his eyes.

“Like I said,” Bruce starts again, “I can’t say. But I can tell you what I _think_, based on what the Ancient One told me.”

“Sorry, who?”

“The Sorcerer Supreme before Strange, who gave me the Time Stone.”

Steve still looks slightly confused, but he chooses to let it pass. “Okay, anyway, you were saying?”

“She said that alternate timelines will be created, but only when an Infinity Stone is taken out of its place. When the stone is returned to the moment it was taken, the alternate timeline dissolves,” Bruce pauses. “But I can’t say it’s the same for people.”

“Meaning? Again, old man here,” Steve says, giving Banner an apologetic smile. At this point, he’s almost more confused than before he had posed the question.

“I think it might be a closed time loop. That means that anything that was going to happen has already happened. Let’s say you’re walking down the street one day and you see somebody in a shirt you like. It’s really cool, so you go out and buy it. Then, a few days later, you use a time machine while you’re wearing the shirt. You’re in the street and your past self sees you, which is what inspires them, inspires _you_, to buy the shirt in the first place. There was never a timeline where you _didn’t_ go back in time. That sequence of events always did and always will happen.”

Steve reflects on what Bruce said for a moment. It reminds him of that one wizard movie that Sam had made him watch, shortly after they had become friends. He voices this comparison to Bruce, “So, it’s like that movie. The magic one, with the kid in the forest and then there’s the glowing thing and really it was him? Oh, Harry Potter!” he says, the name coming to him.

“Jesus, what have I told you guys about time travel in movies! It’s never accurate— well, actually…” Bruce stops himself. “No, that one is right. From what I can tell, it’s pretty much like that. But either way, it still stands that you can’t change the future by going to the past.”

“So, it wouldn’t cause the universe to collapse in on itself?” Steve asks.

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Bruce says with a shrug.

“Very reassuring.”

By this point they’ve reached the lab, and Tony and Bruce need to begin the process of placing the stones into the new gauntlet. Bruce steps out for a moment, mentioning something about needing “a breather before assembling the thing that will literally save the goddamn _universe_,” and Steve and Tony are left alone in the bleach-white room. Tony is standing in front of the new gauntlet, his back to Steve.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony starts, glancing over his shoulder. “I heard you talking with Banner about, uh, ‘_getting stuck_’ as you called it.” He adds air quotes, as if the lilt in his voice wasn’t enough.

“Tony, listen, I—”

“I think you should go for it.”

“It’s— what?” Steve stops mid-sentence, caught off guard by Tony’s reassurance. If someone had told him five years ago that Tony Stark would be telling him to chase his inane fantasy, he would’ve asked what the hell they were on.

Tony turns to face Steve. “I know it’s about her, I’ve seen the way you stare at that photo in your compass-thing. Which, by the way, is super weird, you know you could just make her your phone lock screen, right?” Tony says, cocking an eyebrow.

Steve sighs. “Are you on my side about this or not?”

“Right, sorry. But really, Cap, you deserve a second shot. At Peggy, at having a normal life. When Pepper and I got married, and then we found out she was pregnant, I was probably the most shocked out of anyone. Who would have thought that _I_, Tony Stark, billionaire playboy, would be the one to settle down?”Tony asks rhetorically, knowing the answer was “not a single soul.” “But I gotta say, it’s one of the few things in life I can irrevocably say I have no regrets about. And if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’ve wanted that life a lot longer than I have.” 

Steve stares at Tony for a long moment. “I… Thank you, Tony. Seriously.” He smiles to himself. “You really think I have a shot?”

Tony smirks, and the moment is over. “Hey, I didn’t say you’ll _succeed_, just that you owe it to yourself to try. You know, take the leap, all that motivational shit you say nowadays.”

“Yeah, all right,” Steve says, smiling. In moments like these, the harsh sarcasm is a welcome comfort. “And just so you know, it’s taking the jump.”

“That’s what I said!” Tony calls over his shoulder, already on his way out the door to call Bruce back in. Steve watches as they walk together to where the Infinity Stones are sitting, carefully placed near each other behind the protective screen.

He shifts his gaze over to the window, watching the branches of a tree bend and quiver in the wind. It reminds him of how he’s felt for the past five years; weak, feeble, shaking from the guilt of not stopping Thanos in time. 

He can’t wait to undo what that son of a bitch did.

* * *

**April, 1948**

Peggy sits in her apartment and watches the rain slide down the window. It’s fitting. Dreary weather on a day she’s been dreading. Last night, her fingers had shaken as she dialed Daniel’s number, one she had come to know by heart. Her voice had wavered as she had asked him that horrible question (‘can we meet tomorrow to talk?’), but she remained silent as he agreed, even though he knew exactly what those words meant.

But now, as she stares at the wet sidewalk below, she doesn’t tremble. She sits and thinks and sips her tea, despite it burning on the way down. She loves Daniel, truly, she does. But she knows he’s not the one. As much as she enjoys her time with him, she can’t see herself being with him for the rest of her life, and she respects him too much to lead him on. She can’t exactly put her finger on why she doesn’t want to marry him, and she feels horrible that she’ll have to give him some weak-willed answer when he inevitably asks what went wrong. All she can say is that something is missing in her life and she won’t find it here; she won’t find it with him.

She had been considering breaking up with him for a few weeks now, but the call she had received a few days ago confirmed the fact that it was the right thing to do. It was as if the universe was telling her ‘_yes, go, it’s time to move on_.’ The call had been from Howard; it’s the first time she had heard from him since he had moved back to New York, but Peggy can’t say his lack of communication surprised her. This was Howard Stark, after all. How he managed to find time to do anything between finding his way under girls’ dresses was beyond her. 

Normally when Stark called her, it was to ask for something. A favor, a way out of a situation he managed to get himself into, her young neighbor’s telephone number. Needless to say, when he said he was calling her up to make an offer, an invitation to do something truly remarkable, Peggy found herself at a loss for words. He had called because he was in Washington, D.C. (so not New York, as he had told her before), and in the process of starting S.H.I.E.L.D. up (again). Howard reminded her that he had tried to found it last year, but then his plan had been put on hold when he was framed for ‘being a damn Commie’ (to which she replied ‘yes, Howard, I remember. I was the one who had to get your arse out of the mess’). He was starting it on his own, and he wanted Peggy to be a part of it. He knew that as capable as Peggy was working at the S.S.R., she was still hindered by the male higher-ups’ old ways of thinking. As a founding member of Stark’s organization, she would finally be the one to call the shots without getting questioning looks from her peers and supervisors. The opportunity had her name written all over it, and she hardly wasted her breath before telling him yes, she’ll be there, start making flight arrangements.

With Howard taking care of that, there was only one thing left for her to do.

***

Daniel meets her at the coffee shop down the street from the S.S.R. Headquarters. When she arrives, he’s already there, sitting at the table in the corner. Peggy stands outside for a moment, watching as he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes nervously looking at the door. Two drinks sit on the table, on in front of him and the other on the opposite side. Peggy knows it’s for her, and knowing Daniel, he ordered her exactly the right thing; black coffee, two sugars and a splash of milk. (When she had first met him in the S.S.R. bullpen, he had offered to grab her a coffee from the break room. After she told him that ‘only tea will suffice and I can get it myself, thank you,’ he told her that eventually, one day, he would bring her around to liking coffee. He hadn’t succeeded until a few months ago, when he had brought her to the coffee shop on their second date after a 14-hour shift they had shared.)

She truly is going to miss him.

Peggy steels herself by taking a long breath, and then she walks through the door. Daniel sees her as soon as she steps in and waves her over. She takes one more breath as she begins to walk towards the table. Daniel stops thrumming his fingers and reaches up to fiddle with his shirtsleeve, another nervous habit of his that she had become accustomed to. (He had been so nervous on their first date that he had ended up unraveling the thread of the button, causing his sleeve to remain open for the majority of the night.)

“I already ordered your drink, I hope that’s all right. If it got cold, I can see if they can remake it,” he tells her.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, Daniel. Thank you, by the way.” Peggy picks up the mug and takes a sip. If she’s being honest, it was dreadfully cold. It made her wonder just how long Daniel had been sitting here, waiting. She keeps it to herself though, instead giving him a smile as she sets the cup back down on the worn table.

“So… Listen, I know why—”

“I really am sorry to say this—”

They both start talking at the same time, and though it seems inappropriate given the circumstances, Peggy is tempted to laugh. After a couple seconds, she can’t hold it in, and a short giggle finds its way out of her mouth. This in turn makes Daniel laugh, and then they’re both sitting there, giggling over their coffee like a couple of school girls. Once they’ve both calmed down a bit, it’s Daniel who finally talks first, reminding them both of the unfortunate reason they’re there in the first place.

“So… is it something I did?” He asks.

“No!” Peggy rushes to say. “No, you did nothing wrong, Daniel.” 

She hates how much it sounds like a stereotypical breakup line, but it’s true. In fact, Daniel had been the epitome of a perfect boyfriend; it makes ending their relationship just that much harder.

“It’s just,” she continues. “The timing just isn’t right. We haven’t gotten a break, with Thompson dying, and then the rumors about the S.S.R. being shut down, and now…” She’s glancing down at her cold drink, not able to bring herself to look at Daniel’s face. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand move across the table, palm up, inviting her to take it.

Her hands remain around her mug.

“What?” He asks.

“Daniel, I’m going to Washington, D.C.,” She says plainly, finally looking up at him. “And staying there.”

“You’re moving to D.C.?” He asks. Peggy swears she can see a hundred emotions flash across his face in a matter of seconds—surprise, sadness, confusion, betrayal.

“Yes.”

“Peggy, I could come with—”

“No, Daniel, I can’t ask you to do that,” Peggy says gently. “I know you would never ask me to just up and go with you, to leave my job, to leave my life. And I won’t let you do that for me.”

“But what if I wanted to?”

“Well, do you?” Peggy questions.

“I— I honestly don’t know…” Daniel’s shoulders slump as he sits across from Peggy, thinking.

“That’s exactly it, Daniel. It’s just not the right time for this— for us. Maybe in other life it could have worked, but there’s just no way I can see it continuing. With the opportunity to help start up S.H.I.E.L.D. with Howard—”

“Wait, what?” Daniel says, and Peggy realizes she never told him the reason that she’s going to D.C. She nods, to which he says, “Wow, Peg, that— that’s great. Really, it’s amazing. I’m happy for you.” He takes a breath before continuing. “You should go.” He reaches for her hand again, and this time. she lets him take it.

She gives him a sad smile. “It will be for the best, I think. If not for us, at least for the safety of the country.” she says. She pauses for a moment. “Daniel, I love you. You know that, right?”

“‘Course I do, Peggy. I love you, too. I think I always will.” And with that, he gets up from the table, grabs his crutch, and starts to walk away.

“I’m so sorry you’re not the one, Daniel,” Peggy says, looking up at him as he leaves. “I’m _so sorry_ it’s not you.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking over his shoulder at her. “I am too.”

* * *

**August, 2023**

“Part of me feels like it should have been me. I should have been the one to grab those damn stones.” Steve stands at the fringe of the forest with Sam, looking at the sad remainder of the Avengers facility as it burns and crumbles. In the distance, he can hear birds chirping, and it’s a reminder that they won. But even though they might have won, it does’t feel like it. 

Not with Tony gone.

Steve can’t stop replaying the moment in his head. They had finally, _finally_ won, and he looked over to where Tony had been standing, ready to share a smile with him. But he wasn’t there. He was down, on the ground, Peter Parker leaning over him. He then watched as Pepper ran over to him, fear in her eyes, knowing that this would be the last time she ever saw Tony. Steve stood there as she held him, as she talked to him for the last time. The scene reminded Steve of the last conversation he had with Peggy before he went down with the ship; the way her voice had trembled while she tried to comfort him in (what he thought were) his last moments.

“Steve, you can’t blame yourself for what happened,” Sam says while walking over to him. “Tony made his choice, he knew it was the only way for us to win.” He reaches up and places his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I— I know, but he had a kid, he had a family. I think… It was the life he didn’t know he wanted, but once he had it, he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. And _still_, he was the one to sacrifice himself.”

“I know, Steve. It’s always hard to lose a good man. To lose a friend.”

“I hope he knew that.”

“Knew what?” Asks Sam.

“That he was my friend. I— we just spent so long disagreeing, not being on the same side.”

“He knows, Steve,” Sam says, looking around at the trees that tower over them. “He knows.”

***

After the funeral, Steve sits on the edge of Tony’s patio. Bucky is sitting next to him, and their legs dangle off the edge. It reminds Steve of when they were kids; every summer, his mom would take them down to the beach, and he and Bucky would sit on the pier, legs dangling over, just like they’re sitting now. Back then, it seemed like the ocean was miles below them. As long as he didn’t get too close to the edge and fall in, he was fine. He misses the days when that was his biggest worry.

Now, Steve’s legs are long enough and the patio is low enough that his feet can touch the ground if he stretches them out. Even though the solid ground is right there, just below him, part of him feels like that lost kid again. He’s scared to get close to the edge, scared he’s going to fall and tumble into the depths of the unknown.

He instinctively reaches into his pocket and pulls out his compass. Bucky watches him as he flips it open to reveal the photo of Peggy, the one that’s somehow withstood years of battering. (As hard as he tries to protect it, the fact that he’s taken it on every single damn mission he’s had has taken its toll.)

“You know,” Steve says, still looking down at the photo. He knows Bucky is listening. “I didn’t even get this picture from her. I cut it from a newspaper. It was some dumb article wondering if Peggy was Howard’s new flame.”

“Really?” Bucky laughs.

“Yeah, I figured that she would appreciate the photo being used by someone who actually respected her, rather than some dumb sexist newspaper… And, you know, it would’ve been weird for me to ask her for one directly.”

Bucky shoots him a look. “Weirder than cutting her photo out like some stalker? Honestly, sometimes when I look at you, I still see that shy kid from Brooklyn.”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know, the one that would make me order his sandwich for him at the delicatessen down the road?” Bucky teases. “Or, I know, when you liked Liza from math and—”

“Okay!” Steve cuts him off, laughing. “I get it—you know, sometimes I still feel like that kid… Sometimes I still feel just as lost as him.”

“Yeah, it’s hard sometimes. Being men out of time, and all,” Bucky says. He looks back down to the compass, still lying open in Steve’s hand. “I know you miss her.”

“‘Course I do, Buck. And I know what you’re thinking, but I’m here now. This,” he gestures around, “is my life.”

“But do you want it to be?” Bucky asks pointedly.

“Bucky…”

“_Steve_.”

“I can’t— I can’t leave this life, my friends— I can’t leave _you_,” he says, not making eye contact with Bucky. Instead, he looks out to the expanse of forest in front of them. “And who’s to say she would even want me back?”

“Who wouldn’t want Steve Rogers back? Captain _Freaking_ America,” Bucky says, smiling at Steve.

Steve gives his friend a half-smile back. “Wouldn’t you miss me?” He asks. He acts like he’s teasing, but they both know he’s being serious.

“Nah, I could still see you, couldn’t I? You’d just be all old and wrinkly,” Bucky says, scrunching his face up. “It’s _you_ who would be missing _me_.”

“I would, you know?” Steve says, finally looking over to Bucky. “I’d worry about you too. Leaving you unsupervised with Sam.”

Bucky lets out a laugh and places his hand on Steve’s back. “I know you will. But we’ll be all right, so don’t worry. You can go get your girl, Steve. Just don’t forget to tell her I say hi.” 

“All right, I won’t,” Steve says, giving Bucky a sad smile.

Bucky gives him a wide smile back. “It’s time for you to get yourself home.”

* * *

**August, 1948**

“Welcome home, Peg.”

Peggy walks through the door Howard is holding open for her; the door to her new house, her new life. She’s been living out of a suitcase in the back room of Howard’s D.C. house (mansion) for the past four months. As nice as the home is, and as much as she enjoyed being near Jarvis and his wife again, she’s glad to be moving to her own place. Staying at Stark’s house lacked a sense of permanence, and Peggy felt as though she couldn’t properly settle into her life in Washington without having a place to call her own. At first, Howard wanted to buy a house for her, since it was his idea for her to move out in the first place, but she had said ’really, you don’t have to do that, I’m very capable of buying a place to live myself, thank you,’ so finally he agreed to let her purchase it. (But not before he talked to the seller and managed to get the price knocked down a few thousand dollars, because ‘it’s the least I can do, Peg.’) Her new home is near the newly established S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, so that the commute won’t be too awful. It’s on a quaint little street, away from the main road. And it’s also…big. It’s a real _house_, with a picket fence and a backyard and far too many bedrooms for just one person.

Howard whistles as he walks through the door himself. He stops in the entryway as he looks around the house. He then makes his way from the large family room, into the kitchen, then back out and towards the stairs. He glances up at the numerous doorways it leads to. “Wow, Peggy. I gotta say, isn’t this a little extravagant, for, y’know…” he trails off.

“For what, exactly, Howard?” She asks, looking at him pointedly.

“Well, a single, working gal, like yourself.”

“Well, you could say the same thing to yourself, couldn’t you? You have _how_ many mansions, all to yourself?”  
“Hey! It’s not _all_ to myself, Jarvis and Ana come with me. And, you know, I have friends that come to visit,” he provokes, smirking.

“Oh, good Lord, Howard!”

Jarvis comes through the front door, having finished parking the car in the driveway. “What has he said this time? I think I might have to start a book of all of his most conceited and-or inappropriate quotes,” he says, glancing to Peggy.

“Watch yourself, Jarvis, I could fire you!” Howard says as he disappears into the kitchen, adding something on about a bottle of champagne that was supposed to be delivered.

“As if he could ever find someone to replace me,” Jarvis says, smiling to Peggy.

“He shouldn't have anything to worry about, anyway,” says Peggy. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world to write down every vain thing Mr. Stark has ever said.”

“Right you are, Director Carter,” Jarvis replies. Peggy smiles at the ‘director’ tacked onto the beginning of her name. She was still getting used to not being called ‘agent’ anymore. But she liked the way it sounded.

“Are you talking about me again?” Howard asks while sticking his head around the corner, champagne bottle in hand.

“Oh, nothing, Mr. Stark,” Jarvis says. 

“So, are we ready to leave Peggy to get settled?” Howard asks. “I have a date with this girl I met last week that I need to get to.”

Jarvis shoots Peggy a look, as if to ask Peggy if it was okay for them to leave.

Peggy smiles at her friends. “I’ll be quite all right, you two can go,” she says, and with that, the two men walk out the door, leaving Peggy to settle into her new life.

(Apparently, her new life doesn’t include the the champagne that was supposed to be in the kitchen. Howard had seemingly left with it. But Peggy can’t be bothered too much. She always was more of a tea girl.)

***

It’s nearly a week later when Peggy hears a knock on her door. This isn’t surprising in itself; the past five days in her new house had consisted of new neighbors introducing themselves (along with various baked goods), the postman (always with mail for the previous owners of the house), and a weeping little boy (he lived in the house behind her and had thrown his ball over the fence and into her yard). As much as she hates to say it, she’s hoping it isn’t a neighbor. Though they mean well, they always give her a look when they realize she’s living in the house alone. (‘Oh, you _aren’t_ married?’ they ask. She usually tells them she’s just ‘looking out for the right one.’ While it’s not the exact truth, because she isn’t actively looking, it’s not complete false. If the right man presented himself, she wouldn’t be opposed to getting married and starting a family. It just isn’t her priority, as unorthodox as that is for a young woman of her age.) However, she doubts it’s a neighbor, because it’s 7pm on Thursday night, which is what _is_ out of the ordinary. It’s much too late for someone to be knocking on her door.

Before she approaches the door, she reaches under her coffee table and grabs the pistol she’s strapped underneath it (which happens to be one of five she’s hidden around her new house. Nothing says ‘home’ like the safety of concealed firearms). Peggy holds it at her side as she quietly walks over to the door. She stops in her tracks when she hears the person knock a second time. She waits a moment and then continues towards the door. Once she’s there, she pulls back the curtain covering the glass, hoping it’s subtle enough that whoever is at her door this time of night won’t notice. There isn’t a way she can pretend she isn’t home—the porch light and living room lights are on, and the record player is going, the music carrying through the screen of the open window and dissipating into the warm summer evening. When she manages to peak through, the man at the door is looking over his shoulder, towards the street and away from her. This is good because it means he hasn’t seen her, but bad because she can’t get a proper look at this face. He’s wearing a hat, pulled down low over his eyes, and the shadows cast on his face from the setting sun do nothing to help her identify him. As he turns back towards the door, Peggy quickly lets the curtain fall back into its place.

“Peggy?” He asks while knocking again. At this point, she starts to become properly concerned. Whoever this man is, he knows her name, and he doesn’t seem to be deterred by the fact that he’s knocked three separate times and she still hasn't opened the door.

“Peg, c’mon, I know you’re home,” the voice calls out. “This’ll take a little explaining, but I promise it’ll make sense.”

_What will make sense? _Peggy wonders. As the man continues to ask her to open the door, she’s taken aback for a second. The voice on the other side sounds familiar, she’s heard it before. But, she knows it’s a voice she hasn’t heard in a while.

The man continues, he says, “Peggy, it’s _me_,” and it clicks.

_Steve_.

But it can’t be Steve, he’s gone, he has been for over three years. Who could it be then? Peggy wonders if someone had somehow made something to simulate his voice. She’s never seen anything that could do that, but based on the Leviathan voice tech, she supposes that voice imitation might not be far off. She hazards another glance out the window, and she realizes this man has stolen much more than Steve’s voice. He has his height, his build, and while she still can’t see his face clearly, he seems to have the same strong jawline as well. _That_ is certainly beyond the technology she’s seen.

Peggy isn’t sure what to do—it doesn’t seem like this man is going to leave anytime soon, not with the knowledge that she’s home. This is the point where she normally would have gone for another exit, but she can’t use the back door; its hinges squeak, which would surely tip off the imposter about her plan. (She has someone coming in next week to fix it, precisely in case of situations like this. Apparently she should have planned on the inevitable ambush happening within her first week of living in her new home.)

In an instant, she makes the decision to open the door and aim the pistol directly at the strange man’s face. People underestimate the element of surprise—including Peggy herself, apparently. 

She’s in disbelief when she sees the man’s face, and she falters for a second, almost dropping her pistol right there in the threshold of her door. However, she quickly gets her bearings, and points her gun even more forcefully than she did before. She doesn’t know who she’s looking at, but she certainly knows whoever it is won’t get a way unscathed.

When she opens the door, she finds herself looking at the face of Steve Rogers himself, which is undeniably, unquestionably _impossible_.


	2. never thought that you would be standing here (so close to me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, firstly, I'm SO sorry this chapter took so long, but thank you to everyone who waited! I've had the bones of it done for a while, but it took a lot of editing and re-editing and so-on to get it done, but alas, here it is.  
I hope this chapter makes the wait worthwhile :)

**April, 1970**

As far as plans go, this one isn’t turning out to be Steve’s best.

He’s just finished returning the Space Stone—the one in the Tesseract—to its rightful place in the basement of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility at Camp Lehigh. Returning the Infinity Stones isn’t the part of the plan that isn’t working; the Tesseract was the last one he needed to return, and he managed to make it in and out without raising anyone suspicion. With that done, Steve is now at the part in the plan where he’s going to return to the 40s. He isn’t having second thoughts; he knows he still wants to go back. The issue just lies in the when. 

And the how. 

Really, the biggest flaw in his plan is his lack of one. 

In his defense, he’s never had to come up with a mission plan for going back in time to try and get the love of his life back. While he’s made plenty of mission plans in his lifetime, he normally has someone to run it by. Someone that he can bounce ideas off of, that will make sure his plan would actually _work_. But with this mission, virtually no one knows (knew? will know?) that he’s going to stay in the past. The only person who knows is Bucky. And if he’s being honest, he hadn’t wanted to talk about the situation with Buck any more than he already had. He knows Bucky wants him to be with Peggy. He wouldn’t be staying in the past if he didn’t know Bucky was okay with it. But there’s a nagging part of him that still feels guilty, like he’s abandoning Bucky. Steve fought for him, he rescued him from Hydra after learning he was alive, only to abandon him in the 21st century—Steve definitely isn’t winning any friendship awards.

Not being able to ask Bucky about it, he was left empty handed. He didn’t want anyone else to hear his plan (or lack thereof), so here he is; in the records department of a high-security S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, crouched behind one of the towering shelves, waiting for the recordkeeper at the front desk to go home. Steve figures it’ll be easier to find Peggy’s 1940s whereabouts now, rather than trying to figure it out once he’s gotten there. Though he doesn’t know exactly what year he’s going back to, he knows he won’t go later than sometime in the 40s. Any longer than that will be over five years since he had gone down in the Valkyrie, and he feels as if that’s pushing it. While he’s going to stay in the past whether or not things work out with Peg, he at least wants a _shot_ with her. Showing up after he's been presumed dead for 20 years wouldn’t do Steve any favors.

Under ordinary circumstances, he would have found her address using the extensive digital records they have in the future. But it didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do at the time, with everyone scrambling to put back the pieces of the lives they have before Thanos. Hell, he doesn’t even know the state S.H.I.E.L.D. was in when he embarked on his journey to return the stones—finding the file in the 70s, where he was already going to be in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, is his best shot.

Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, Steve glances up through the gap between two shelves. The recordkeeper is heading towards the door, his bright orange jacket slung over his shoulder. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Steve quietly gets up and and walks over to the filing cabinet behind the desk.

“_C_, _C_, _C_…” He mutters under his breath, looking for the appropriate drawer of the cabinet. Thank God Peggy didn’t change her last name, because when he opens the “CA-CL” drawer after picking the lock, her file is among the first few. ‘Carter, Margaret Elizabeth.’ Steve pulls it out and opens it, immediately spotting the photograph of Peggy in the upper-left corner. ‘Director Carter, 1950’ is scrawled on the white strip beneath it in precise handwriting. He smiles at the photo, Peggy’s crinkled and familiar warm brown eyes a welcome sight. He then shifts his gaze, scanning her page for the needed information. He stops when he reaches the relation status section of her file. Steve finds where it says ‘spouse,’ and follows the line across to where ‘**INFORMATION REDACTED**’ is written in red type above a thick black line.

Of course.

Because if he knew how things work out for him, where would the fun be?

Steve decides to cross that bridge when he comes to it, because until he finds any sort of info on where Peggy is located in the 40s, he won’t even have the opportunity to go back to her. Eventually, after flipping through numerous pages of Peggy’s extensive file, he manages to find what he’s looking for. 

It’s a half-sheet of paper from 1948 notifying a change in address. ’48 is a bit later than Steve was hoping to return to, but he’ll take what he can. Including the time he spent waiting for the guy at the front desk to leave, he’s been in the records room the better part of an hour, and he’s itching to get out of there. While he does have time at the tips of his fingers, he would prefer to get moving; he’s waited long enough to see the love of his life.

Steve puts Peggy’s file away and is in the middle trying to re-lock the drawer when he hears a voice call out from the hallway. 

“You go ahead, Martin, I think I left my keys in my desk.”

“Again?” another voice replies. “I don’t know how they trust you to keep track of every record in this place when you can’t even keep track of your keys.”

“I know, I’m sorry!” The first voice is paired with a set of footsteps approaching the door.

_Shit_.

Steve looks back to the drawer in front of him. It won’t stay shut without being locked back up, but there’s no way he has time to finish locking it up. He leaves the cabinet as it is, half open and very obviously broken into. As quickly as super-humanly possible, he dives back behind the shelf he was using as a cover before and hopes that the record guy won’t take more than thirty seconds to retrieve his lost keys.

The door opens with a squeak. Peeking through the gap in the shelves again, Steve can see the recordkeeper re-enter the room, now properly wearing the horrendously orange suit jacket. He watches as the man shuffles through his desk drawer, back turned to the filing cabinet.

“Bingo!” he shouts, jingling his keys before placing them into his pocket. Steve thinks, just for a moment, that he’s about to make it out of 1970 without having to fight anyone when the man turns around, directly facing the open drawer.

“What the hell?” The recordkeeper wonders out loud. Steve hears the tinny metal-on-metal clang of the drawer being slammed back into place, followed by the click of a lock.

Steve holds his breath, hoping the man will brush it off and leave again. Unfortunately, his luck seems to be running low today. He watches the man as he turns around and glances about the room, apparently realizing that someone had broken into the cabinet.

“Is there someone there?” He calls out. Steve watches as the man’s right hand reaches into the pocket of his jacket. His hand comes back out with a pistol, because why _wouldn’t_ the person watching over all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s important documents have a gun on them? Steve watches as the man takes another glance around the room, and suddenly, they’re making direct eye contact through the shelves.

The recordkeeper raises the gun in front of him. “Come out from behind the shelf, or I swear to God I’ll shoot you right here and now. Give me whatever the hell you took.”

“Listen, don’t shoot, alright? I’m going,” Steve says, slowly standing up and rounding the corner of the shelf. “I didn’t take anything you’ll miss.”

“Listen, pal, if you risked breaking in, then obvi—” the man starts, but before he can finish his sentence, Steve pulls his fist back and punches the recordkeeper squarely in the face.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down at the man’s crumpled, unconscious body. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that.”

Steve decides to get out of the 70s as soon as he can, before he has to punch anyone else. He opens up his handheld time travel device and enters in a date: August 19th, 1948, about a week after the date listed on Peggy’s change of address form.

It’s time he finally goes home.

***

Steve time-jumps into a back alleyway in Washington, D.C. After gathering his bearings, he turns around and is promptly greeted by a large poster reading ‘Keep Communism OUT of America!’, complete with an eagle ripping apart the image of a golden hammer and sickle. Of course, Steve’s come back just in time to see the rise of the Cold War. Apparently, he can’t travel to _any_ time period without there being some form of war being fought.

He has an address in his pocket that’s burning a hole, so he sets out on finding exactly where it is that he’s going. He hasn’t had any issues with the ‘when’ part of Tony’s time traveling device, but the ‘where’ is a little on the shoddy side. (Not that Steve is complaining. It’s _time travel_, for God’s sake. It just means a little extra walking and his hoping that he’ll be able to find his way.)

He turns the corner out of the alleyway and begins to walk down the street in what’s hopefully the right direction. After a few minutes without any luck, he finally comes across someone who looks like he could help give directions. (And who hopefully won’t realize that Steve is Captain America back from the dead, wearing clothes that won’t be created for another 70 years.)

“Hey, sir, excuse me!” Steve calls out to the man walking towards him. “Do you think you could help me?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re asking for. Whaddya want?” the man says in a somewhat unfriendly tone. Apparently, Steve’s judge of character missed the mark.

“I’m looking for, uh…” Steve pulls the slip of paper where he wrote down the address out of his pocket. He’s sure the address is burned in his brain, but he wants to be sure he’s heading in the right direction. “1381 Madison Street.”

“Well, to get to Madison, keep walking and then take a left up there,” he says, pointing. “Then keep straight for a couple of blocks. I suppose you can just follow the numbers then. Should come across the place eventually.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Steve says as he begins to set back off down the street.

The stranger stares pointedly at his face. “Say, you look familiar. Are you an actor or something?”

“Uh, no sir.”

“I know!” the man exclaims. “You look just like that Captain America fella. Shame, what happened to him.”

Steve pauses. “I just have one of those faces, I suppose.”

“Well then, Not-Captain-America, a word of advice?”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Buy a map next time,” the man says.

“Noted.” Steve nods in reply. He waves goodbye and continues on his way, pulling his hat down farther over his face.

***

Luckily for him, Steve manages to find the correct street without any more interruptions. He’s all the way down in the 1100s, so he sets off towards the larger house numbers. As he walks farther away from the main drag of town, the street gets quieter, more quaint. Two kids race past him on their bikes, while a teen girl walking a dog behind them calls out for them to “slow _down_ or else I’ll tell Mom.”

It seems like a nice place to live.

Caught up in thought, Steve isn’t really paying attention to where he is. When he looks at the house in front of him, whose number is 1357, he realizes he’s almost there. Without thinking about it, he’s running down the street. He’s like a river racing towards the ocean, racing towards Peggy, like he was always bound to her, and then—

There it is. 

Finally. Steve is finally, _finally_ here.

Now, all he needs to do is convince Peggy that it’s really, truly him. Knowing her, that will prove to be the hardest part.

Steve stands there, weighing his options. His lack of a plan is coming back to bite him in the ass yet again. While he doesn’t necessarily like the idea of dropping the bombshell that he’s still alive while he’s standing at Peggy’s front door, he’s not sure he has much of a choice. There’s no way he could go to someone else within S.H.I.E.L.D. first. Even though Peggy will probably be the hardest person to convince that it’s actually him, it also means that after she does know, she’s one of the only people that will wholeheartedly believe him. Besides, he’s already here, and he really doesn’t want to be meandering around in 1948 Washington D.C. any longer than he has to.

A young woman walks past him on the sidewalk, and he pulls his hat down tighter over his face, not wanting anyone else to recognize him before he gets the chance to come up with a cover as to why Steve Rogers is alive and well and walking around town. The woman shoots him a suspicious look in response, and Steve can’t say he blames her. He’s been firmly planted in front of Peggy’s house for the past five minutes, still mulling over the best way to execute the last step in his thrown-together plan. To say the least, he isn’t being the most inconspicuous he’s ever been.

_Well._ Steve takes a deep breath. _Now or never_.

He walks up the few steps leading to Peggy’s front door and knocks. As he waits, he takes the opportunity to look around the front of her new residence. He was so caught up in his head before he hadn’t actually taken the time to look around.

It’s a nice house. It has a picket fence out front, which Peggy always used to mock, but tastes change, apparently. He can hear faint music, filtering through a window somewhere, but he can’t quite make out what song it is.

Steve turns his attention back to the task at hand. The door in front of him is still unanswered, so he reaches up to knock again. This time, he hears shuffling behind the door, along with a clicking noise. The cock of a gun, if he’s not mistaken.

He always could rely on Peggy to be prepared.

Steve looks over his shoulder, hoping no one else has notice him or the fact that he’s been standing on the front porch for an inappropriate amount of time. As he turns back to the door, he catches the curtain on the other side of the door falling back into place, apparently having been pulled back.

“Peggy?” he calls out as he knocks again.

Still no answer. Steve lets out a sigh. “Peg, c’mon, I know you’re home. This’ll take a little explaining, but I promise it’ll make sense.” At this point, he’s running out of options. He needs some way to prove that it’s him without announcing to the entire street that Captain America is back from the dead.

“Peggy, it’s _me_,” Steve says, trying again to get her to open the door. He’s hoping Peggy will let him in soon, as he would prefer not to kick down the door to her house.

Suddenly, the door is forcefully pulled open, and—

There she is.

She’s not quite the same as she was the last time Steve properly saw her, before he went into the ice. Her hair is longer, brushing over her shoulders in soft curls. And her eyes. They still have the familiar warm brown crinkle to them, but they have something else layered on top of them. Even in the three years it’s been for her, she looks like she’s gone through a lifetime of hardships.

Steve glances down to her hands, which are held out in front of her.

She’s currently pointing a gun directly at Steve.

Peggy pauses for a moment, as a look of recognition passes over her face, followed by confusion.

“Who the bloody _hell_ are you?” she asks, continuing to point the pistol at Steve. He watches as it shakes slightly in her hand. Anyone who didn’t know her wouldn’t think anything of it, but Steve has seen Peggy in action, and he knows the sight of himself has caught her off guard.

“It’s me, it’s me,” he says. “It’s Steve, I swear. Just let me explain.” At this point, Steve is partially regretting his decision to show up on a while at Peggy’s front door. He knows that if Bucky were here to see this, he would never hear the end of it.

Apparently unsatisfied with Steve’s nondescript answers, Peggy lunges towards him. In the blink of an eye, she’s behind him, twisting his arm behind his back. Even after the Super Soldier Serum and all these years, Peggy still knew how to get the upper hand over him in a fight. She pulls him into the house, and they round the corner to the first room off of the entryway. It’s a spacious room, with a couch and a couple of armchairs, all placed around a fireplace.

Peggy then begins to dig her nails into Steve’s arm. 

“Jesus, Peg—” he starts.

“What’s your mother’s name?” Peggy cuts Steve off.

“Her name _was_ Sarah Rogers. She was born—” he starts.

“No, anyone could have found that out,” Peggy mutters, more to herself than Steve. “How many times did you try to enlist before you were successful?”

“Five. Six if you count the time right before Dr. Erskine recruited me, but I’m not sure if you would consider that successful either.”

At this point, Peggy’s grip on him has relaxed slightly; if he really wanted to, he could throw himself backwards into Peggy and wriggle out of her hold. However, trying to fight back doesn’t seem to be the best way to prove that he’s actually Steve, so he elects to stay where he is in her grip.

“Our first real conversation we had, what did we talk about?” Peggy asks.

“On the way to the lab?” Steve glances over his shoulder, so that he’s making as much eye contact with Peggy as he can. “I pointed out all of the places I got beat up when I was a kid. Then, we— we talked about dancing, about finding for the right partner,” he pauses.

Peggy doesn’t say anything to that, but Steve can feel her breath getting heavier across the back of his neck. 

He continues, “You’re my right parter, and I believe I owe you a dance.”

At that, Peggy lets go of his arm, but she stays where she is, still behind him. Steve can still feel her gun pressed into his back. “And our— the last time we talked, where did we agree to—”

“The Stork Club, eight o’clock.” Steve turns around so that he’s facing Peggy, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry I missed it”

“Steve?” she asks, voice breaking.

“Peggy.”

She lowers her gun. “It’s really, truly you?”

“I promise,” He says. “It’s me. You know it’s me.”

Peggy lets go of both her pistol and a sob. She closes the distance between herself and Steve, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she can. He returns the gesture, placing one hand on her back and reaching up with the other to run his hand through her hair, soft under his fingertips. He closes his eyes, letting himself become enthralled by being here, by being with her.

When he opens his eyes up, Peggy’s head is tilted back, looking up at Steve. He locks his eyes with hers. 

“I can’t believe you’re actually _here_,” she says

“Honestly, after everything, it’s hard to believe it myself,” Steve brings his hand around to cup Peggy’s face, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek. “I promise I’m not going anywhere this time. I’m staying right here, my best girl at my side.”

“But— But _how_, Steve, I mean—”

“Peggy,” he cuts her off. “I’ll explain, I promise. I will. But can we savor the moment for a bit longer before we get into all the technicalities.”

She smiles at him. “I suppose that would be alright.”

They stand there for a moment, not saying anything. Sometimes, just being there together is enough.

The music that had been playing in the background stops. If Steve’s being honest, he hadn’t been paying attention, and he has no idea what song just ended. He looks over to where the record spins in the record player, the needle trapped in the lead-out groove. He moves to it and flips the record over. As he’s about to drop the needle back in to place, Peggy walks over to him and stops him.

“Skip the first song, place it into the second groove.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“I just— I’m not a fan of it. I always skip it.”

Steve looks to where the sleeve for the vinyl is lying on the table. He glances at the track listing and notices that he not only knows the song, but he enjoys it. It’s one he’s listened to countless times himself, and he voices this to Peggy.

“I’m just not very fond of it,” Peggy says in response. She looks away from Steve’s eyes and down to the floor. “It reminded me of you. I thought—” her voice catches, and she pauses. The silence reminds Steve that while he was in the future, with the ability to know everything that happened to Peggy, that wasn’t the case for her; she had spent these past few years having to work through the trauma of losing the love of her life, of believing there was no chance for her to see him again. 

“I thought you were _dead_,” she continues. “After the war ended, that song was everywhere. You couldn’t go down the street without hearing it coming out of a shop. And all I could think about was the fact that I was never going to see you again.”

“Peg,” he says, bringing his had under her chin. He lifts her head so that he can look into her eyes. “You want to know why I like it?”

“Why?” she whispers.

“It reminded me of you,” he says. “Now, I think I owe you a dance, and maybe a better association with that song along with it.”

Peggy lets out a wet chuckle. “Well, I do think it’s about time.”

Steve starts the record and leads Peggy to the middle of the living room. She smiles, and her heart swells along with the sound of the brass. She allows Steve to pull her into a dance, right there on the rug. As he begins to spin them, Peggy realizes the front door is still open. With the shock of seeing Steve again, closing it being her must have slipped her mind. However, at the current moment, she can’t bring herself to care. The warm August breeze floats through the door, and the golden light of the setting sun washes the room in a warm glow. Steve leans in to kiss her, and as his lips touch hers, she decides that maybe this song isn’t so bad after all. 

***

Peggy asks the question that’s begging to be asked as they sit down for dinner. (Steve asked to grill hot dogs, because God help him if he has to go back to regularly eating _boiled_ food. Peggy makes a side salad to go along, and Steve feels that his first meal back in the 40s is fittingly American.) They’re sitting at opposite ends of her dining room table, and the chandelier above them projects dotted patterns of light around the room.

“So,” Peggy starts. She’s staring down at her plate in front of her. Not because she’s nervous, but because she has to collect her thoughts. She can’t think of what exactly to ask, of where to start. “How— how did—”

“How the hell did I get here?” Steve asks for her.

“Well,” she says, looking up. “To put it bluntly, yes. What happened to you? It’s been years, Steve. Years of thinking you were _dead_.”

Suddenly, the green tablecloth between them feels like a vast, icy span of the sea.Steve reaches over and places his hand on hers, just as a reminder that he’s here.

“Well, I didn’t die,” Steve says. “When the Valkyrie crashed into the Atlantic.”

“Well, I mean, I could have guessed _that_ by now,” Peggy says wryly, her mouth turning up in a smirk.

Steve lets a laugh pass through his lips. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your smarts since I’ve been gone.”

The moment passes, and then the air hanging between them is serious again.

“I was in there for a while… uh, years. And eventually I was fished out, not by anyone who was looking for me, and I woke up, and you weren’t there. No one was—you, Bucky, Howard, all gone. It was just me, and I was alone. I mean, there were people but— I felt alone. For a while.”

“How do you mean? Why weren’t we there?” Peggy asks, her eyes searching Steve’s. “Did they take you somewhere else?”

“No, no, I was in New York. Just… over 60 years later.” Steve is expecting Peggy to laugh at him, to say he’s crazy, to tell him it was a mistake letting him in. But she doesn’t, of course she doesn’t, because it’s _Peggy_. While she certainly looks perplexed, she doesn’t look at all like she’s about to tell him that he’s lying or that he’s delusional.

Steve starts to tell her everything. How he woke up, what he did for the next twelve years. He glosses over some things, things that would mess up the timeline, or whatever. He’s really not sure what’s okay to say and what’s not, and he knows he’ll probably tell Peggy everything eventually. But he decides it would probably be best to start small, and he hopes that Banner wouldn’t want to kill him for even trying to explain anything. 

At some point, they relocate to the living room, Peggy in the big armchair next to the fireplace, Steve on the couch. 

“But, enough out what I’ve been up to,” Steve says eventually. He’s explained as much about the time travel aspect as he understands, so he hopes Peggy will accept that as enough. “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me talk, even _I_ am,” Steve says. “What’s happened with you, _Director_ Carter?” But even as he asks, he’s sinking lower into the couch. It’s as if his body knows he’s finally fulfilled his duties for the day, and now he can finally relax.

Peggy notices this. “I think my comparatively uneventful life can wait until the morning.”

“No, don’t say that,” Steve says, sitting back up. “Really, I want to hear what you’ve been up to.”

“I don’t doubt that you do, Steve,” Peggy says, a smile gracing her lips. “But you also look like you’re about to pass out. Even super soldiers need sleep.”

“Well, I guess I should get going,” Steve says as he starts to get up.

“No, don’t be silly. You can stay here.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at this.

Peggy gets up from her chair. “On the _couch_, Steve. Really, what do you take me for? I’ll grab you a blanket.” 

“Y’know, part of me was worried about coming back,” Steve calls out to Peggy, who’s at the linen closet in the hallway. “Because, if you didn’t— if you had moved on, at first I didn’t know what I would have done. But then I realized, I would stay anyway. Any time with Peggy Carter in it isn’t a bad place to be.”

“Is that so?” Peggy asks. She’s still in the hallway, but Steve can hear a smile in her voice.

“Of course it is. You choosing to not kick me to the curb is just a cherry on top.”

***

Peggy doesn’t get much sleep that night. 

Her mind is reeling, starting with the fact that Steve hadn’t died on the Valkyrie when it had crashed. What troubles her is the fact that Steve is here, right now, but there’s also another him, the one she knows, _her_ Steve, frozen below icy water, not to be found for another sixty years. She can’t imagine how he must have felt after waking up; finding out how much he had missed, realizing the world had moved on without him. He talked briefly about some the people he worked with, his friends, but he wouldn’t go into much detail about any of them. He kept mentioning something about not messing with the timeline, and though Peggy isn’t exactly sure what that means, she decides to take his word for it.

By 7 o’clock the next morning, Peggy resolves that the couple hours of restless sleep she got is all she’s getting, and she walks softly out to the living room. Steve is still sleeping on the couch, and she watches as his chest rises and falls under the worn linen blanket. His face is older, harder, and faint lines have appeared around his eyes. His eyes are shifting behind his eyelids, and every once in a while his brow furrows into a frown.

Realizing she’s been staring long enough, Peggy approaches him and gently shakes him awake. He cracks an eye open, and his face quickly turns to bleary confusion.

“Peggy?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“You— what’s—” Steve sits up, looking around the room. After a moment, he seems to remember where he is. He looks down, realizing that he had stayed at Peggy’s house for the whole night. “Sorry, I just— I forgot where I was for a second,”

“It’s quite all right,” Peggy says with a smile. “Now, how about you take a shower while I fix us some breakfast?”

***

Peggy leaves Steve to clean up the dishes from breakfast while she uses the telephone out in the hall. She was debating all morning about whether or not to ring Howard. She knew it had to happen at some point, but she was barley getting used to the idea of Steve being around again. Adding another person into the mix (and, on top of that, that person being Howard Stark) meant another person who had to keep Steve’s return—and everything surrounding it—a secret. But, there was also the matter of finding a new identity for him, a job, and a place to live. Steve needed a brand-new _life_, and frankly, Peggy didn’t have the time nor tools to deal with all the logistics herself. 

As soon as he picks up, she begins with, “listen, Howard,” not bothering to even give him a hello. “I need you to come ‘round my house as soon as you can. Something has come up.”

“What’s going on?” Howard asks. “Phillips says you aren’t coming in today, and I can only assume—”

“Howard, _please_ do not finish that sentence,” Peggy says. She can only imagine the reasons Howard would guess as to why she’s staying home, and she’s sure that she can go the rest of her life without knowing them. “Now, back to the matter at hand, no, I’m not coming in. Like I said, something came up. It’s important, I can’t tell you over the phone.”

“C’mon, not even just a little hint? I mean, I’m coming _all_ the way over there,” Howard whines. Really, it’s astounding how much he reminds her of a child. “You should at least tell me what to expect.”

“Please, it’s not like you even have to drive,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes. “I think you’ll survive the trip. Speaking of which, Mr. Jarvis is perfectly welcome to come as well.”

“Gotcha, Peg,” Howard says. “See ya soon.”

“Bye, Howard,” Peggy replies as she hangs up the phone.

“Did you say Jarvis?” A voice says behind her.

“What?” Startled, Peggy turns startled to see Steve standing behind her, leaning against the doorway to the hall. His hair, still damp from the shower he took, is flopping down over his eyes. Peggy watches as he brushes it back up. 

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy says. “I didn’t realize you were there. What were you asking?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says. “It just sounded like you said something about Jarvis, is all.”

“Yes, I did. Mr. Jarvis is Howard’s butler. Why, did you know him? From the future, I mean.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Steve lets out a laugh, his head tilting back. “Oh, I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “I just knew— someone, in the future, who was named Jarvis. I just didn’t know he was named _after_ someone.”

“Ah,” Peggy pauses. “So, was this person involved with Howard, or—”

“Uh, in a way. Long story,” Steve says.

“I see. I suppose I’ll just have to wait and find out myself.”

Steve stares at her for a moment. He has a look in his eyes, a look as if he’s seen too much, as if he knows exactly when Peggy will find out herself. And, she realizes, he probably does know. “Yeah, I suppose you will,” he says.

***

Steve waits on the couch as Peggy answers the door. She opens it to someone who has to be Jarvis. He looks vaguely familiar, and Steve figures he’s probably seen a picture of him at one point or another.

“Peggy, good to see you!” He says greeting her with a smile.

“Yes, it’s not as if we work together now and I don’t see you every day.” Her back is towards him, but Steve is sure she’s smiling. 

“Well, it’s still good to see you,” Jarvis says. “Mr. Stark will just be a moment. I believe he’s chatting with your next door neighbor.”

“He really never quits, does he?” Peggy sighs. “Well, never mind him. Why don’t you come in.”

Jarvis steps inside as Peggy stays at the door, sticking her head out to locate Howard. Jarvis’ eyes look towards the couch, where they promptly land on Steve. 

“I—” he says. “Peggy, is— Is that—”

“Uh, yes. Yes it is. I’ll explain everything as soon as Howard decides to join us.”

“You called?” a voice calls from outside.

“I actually did, if you recall,” Peggy says as Howard steps into view.

“Sorry about that, I was just talking with your neighbor. Nice girl, though…” Howard trails off as he too notices Steve. “Peggy?”

“Howard,” Peggy says.

He turns towards Steve and starts walking towards him. He looks back towards Peggy, saying, “Do you want to explain why there’s a Steve Rogers lookalike sitting on your couch?”

At this acknowledgement, Steve gets up. He’s about to speak, but before he gets the chance, Howard is talking again.

“I mean, seriously, Peg,” Howard half-whispers, not nearly quiet enough to actually hide what he’s saying. “What the hell? I thought you got rid of the blood, so it can’t be a clone, not that that technology exists… Unless, is it a robot?”

“I’m not a _robot_,” Steve says.

“I mean, really, whatever is going on, it’s quite remarkable.” Howard turns back towards Steve. “You even got it to sound like him—”

“Howard, it’s _me_,” Steve says.

“Well then, _Steve_, if it really is you, why don’t you tell me something? Something that only you and I would know.”

“The second time I met you, it was in a back room, where you and a secretary—”

“_Well_, that’s quite enough of that,” Howard cuts him off. “Steve, it’s you! I mean, oh my God. Where the hell did Peggy fish you out from?”

“Well, that’s the thing, Howard,” Peggy says. “_I_ didn’t do anything.”

Steve gestures to the couch. “You might want to sit down, Howard. And Jarvis, you too. It’s kind of a long story.

***

Steve gives Howard and Jarvis the abridged version of how exactly he made it back to 1948, but it still takes him a good hour to explain what happened along the way. (It also doesn’t help that Howard interjects ever so often about ‘that bastard’ who invented time travel instead of him.) After that, Steve decides he’s done listening to himself talk. He asks Peggy and Howard about their time starting up S.H.I.E.L.D., wanting to know what they’ve been up to in the years he’s been gone. Even though the already knows the gist of it, he wants to hear it from them. Besides, he’s missed being around his friends, and he wants to spend more time with Howard before he has to leave.

Soon after Steve is caught up, though, Peggy decides it’s time for Howard and Jarvis to leave. “It’s been a lovely reunion, boys, but I do think it’s about time for you two to get going,” she says.

“Ah, I get it,” Howard says, grinning. “_We_ get the boot, but freeloading Steve gets to stay. Well, you two kids have fun.”

Instead of responding, Peggy shoots Howard a look. He apparently chooses to ignore it, because he continues, “Steve, let me know if you need a place to stay, though I imagine you won’t be—”

“Mr. Stark,” Jarvis injects. “May I suggest we leave before Ms. Carter elects to shoot you?”

Peggy smiles at him. “That sounds like quite a good a good idea, Mr. Jarvis.”

“All right, all right, we’re leaving!” Howard says. “I’ll be back in the next few days, though. We have to figure out what to do with that one’s identity.” He points at Steve. “I mean, we can’t exactly have Captain America meandering down the street, now can we?”

“Don’t worry, Howard, we’ll figure it out,” Steve says, waving.

After Peggy shuts the door behind them, she turns around and leans against it, letting out a sigh.

“What?” Steve cocks his head.

“Nothing,” Peggy says. “It’s just… nice to have you back. To have you here.” She walks back over to the couch and sits down next to Steve, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You know what I realized?” Steve asks rhetorically. “I shouldn’t have been so worried about coming back here, about seeing you again.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?” Peggy questions, turning her head to look up at Steve.

“Because everything in my life always came back to you, Peggy. My story was always supposed to end with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, it's done! As I'm writing this, "It's Been a Long, Long Time" came on, perfect timing lol.  
I'm hoping to add more to this series, hopefully not with a seven month break in between :p
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read! Please comment/leave kudos/share/read to your dog and all that jazz!

**Author's Note:**

> Over 6k words and they still haven't even met again, so much for a reunion fic. (But for real, the next-and-probably-final chapter should be out soon and it'll be filled with all that steggy goodness.)  
Also I realized that peggy has tea like twice and mentions it even more than that so like sorry about the british stereotypes but can you really tell me it's unrealistic for her?? no


End file.
